maskormenacelogs | We live to hear the slack-jawed gasping

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We live to hear the slack-jawed gasping

WHO: Zatanna & You
WHERE: De Chima, mostly, but open to wildcards
WHEN: Throughout May
WHAT: Catch-All & Open Prompts!
WARNINGS: None yet.

1) THE STAGE

The first of a three-night engagement at a real venue. Feeling the heat of stage lights on her back again was comfort like nothing else for Zatanna. She lived for this thrill, and she didn't pull out any stops for the hour and a half she had of the audience's (hopefully) undivided attention. Magic and misdirection worked in concert with the work of talented set designers, costumes and theatrical lighting to, as the promotional poster promised, stun, amaze and delight.

Rabbits pulled out of a hat, only to be transformed into tigers and back again, an audience member temporarily gifted with the power of flight, countless illusions, and an escape stunt combined with an aerial silks number for the encore.

By the time she took her bow, there was as much sweat on her face as there was glitter (well, maybe not quite as much- there was a lot of glitter). But after a bottle of ice water and a quick change of clothes, she met with a small crowd outside the back exit of the theatre to sign programs and pose for selfies.

2) THE STREETS

"Okay. Okay. Just let me reach into my purse for my wallet- nug nrut otni sevod!" Three white birds flew off into the night sky as her confused mugger was left empty handed. "Sepor dnib mih," she muttered under her breath, leaving the man bound against a streetlight.

After a few steps, she looked up, sighed, then looked back at her would-be attacker. "Seriously? My billboard is right over there." She crinkled her nose. Did they Photoshop her face too much? It didn't look right. She'd call John about it later.

3)JUST ABOUT ANYWHERE ELSE!

Come at me bro(or sis)

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[Cinders watch, rapt and starry-eyed, at the constant display of magic. She had never seen anyone do something so wondrous in all her life. She was quite the enthusiastic audience member, ooh-ing and ahh-ing in all the right places, and even whooping a couple of times (and then turning bright red with embarrassment). And when it was all over, she leapt to her feet, applauding loudly and cheering until the rest of the audience joined in.

A little later, and she was looking into the face of the woman she'd spoken with on the network, beaming.]

That was wonderful! How did you do all that?

[Zatanna, meet someone who's never seen a magic show in her entire life.]

"Magic, of course. And a very talented stage crew," Zee replied, studying the girl for a moment, memories coming to the forefront of her performance-fatigued mind. It took a few seconds before the connection was made.

"Found some more comfortable shoes yet?"

"But how did you learn it? Are you a witch, by any chance?" Well, that was the context Cinders had, thus far. Either witches, or fairies. She laughed, shaking her head. "Alas, no. All I have are my glass slippers, and these old things." Cinders stuck out her foot, showing off a plain, leather shoe that was very old and extremely worn.

Zee made a gesture to Cinders, indicating she'd get right back to her- other people want their programs signed, and she doesn't want to disappoint anyone. "Something like that, a mix of natural and learned- but magic talk aside, are you settling in OK? Doing alright with the job they stuck you with?"

Cinders waited patiently as the other woman saw to the other people who came. What were they doing, anyway? Why was she signing things for them? "That sounds wonderful. I wish I knew magic." Oh, wait - she did. Sort of.

"I suppose. It's very different from what I'm used to." Understatement of the year.

Well, here, if you ever find yourself needing a hand with something, whether it's picking out some new clothes, or just finding your way around the cities, you can use this...

[She puts a card in her hand. It's blank and white, save an embossed letter Z, also in white.] Just say "Annataz. I'll know you need me, and I'll find you. I think that would likely be easier for you than using phones or video posts.

As a magic user in a world only a little different than this one, where magic is rare to the point that many people don't believe it exists, I thought I might be able to help you get used to life in a place like this. You tell me about where you're from, and I can try to explain things in context.

[A smile, then clarifies a little more.] I'm trying to make more friends here. You seem like you'd be a really good one to have.

More magic?

[Cinders takes the card, looking at it with a combination of amusement and interest.]

Thank you. I'll take good care of it.

[She smiles.]

I'm glad you think so. I've only had a couple of friends before.

[Being a servant in her own house didn't leave much time for anything else.]

Magic is kind of my shtick. That, and the stockings. If there's anything I can do to help you adjust to life here, let me know.

I think maybe a shopping trip might be a good place to start?

Thank you. That's very kind of you.

A shopping trip sounds lovely... but I don't have enough for one right now. [There's the thought that she might be able to in the future, though - and that puts a smile on her face.]

Oh, don't worry too much about the money. There's almost always a shop owner or designer eager to get their wares seen on a potential up-and-coming imPort. And I'll help out where I can. We'll make a day of it. Shopping, dinner, drinks. Providing I don't have to drag another friend of mine out of a ditch, it should be a lot of fun.

Really? I suppose that makes sense, considering how much I've been poked and prodded. By complete strangers, no less!

[It probably doesn't help that she's still in her old rags, for now.]

A drink does sound nice. But... a ditch?

[What the actual hell.]

He's got a bad habit of falling into them. And less pleasant places. Hopefully that habit won't interrupt a girl's day out.

But don't worry too much about that part. We'll work on hooking you up with some clothes that blend in easier, maybe a trip to a home goods store to introduce you the wide array of home appliances and other conveniences available in this day and age.

He sounds like a lot of work.

Thank you. How can I repay you?

[It's not that Cinders isn't grateful, but she’s a little leery of debts, especially after the Fairy.]

"Ever been on stage? The costume ladies will love having someone else around who's worn a corset before.

[Yes, this is totally a Good Idea.]

We will make sure your shoes fit, though.

But what do women wear here, if not corsets?

[Guess who's never heard of modern undergarments? This gal~]

That sounds wonderful.

[Zee almost answers honestly, but it's just cruel to tell someone about Spanx before the sports bra]

Well, I know what stores we'll be starting at.

[Please don't tell her about Spanx, Zee. Ignorance is bliss.]

Oh?

They make undergarments now that are designed just for comfort. We'll hit one of the better lingerie places. [OK Zee's tastes do lean towards the showy but the places she goes for good quality showy also know their basics.]

You're gonna love bread machines and egg cookers too, I can tell. So, whatever passes for Bed, Bath and Beyond here.

That sounds lovely.

[Wait.]

You have bread machines?

And readily available, sliced bread, even.

[Now, to see if that really was the best thing to hold other new things since against.]

Sliced bread? Really?!

[Best. Thing. Ever.]

Wanda, finishing from a late night at her bakery (she has a paper to-go cup of tea in hand, as well a couple of pastries in a paper bag), came across the scene just as Zatanna bound someone against a streetlight. She's assuming the man had it coming.

"That should do it. I usually for a toss against a truck, or dropping cars on people--" Both things she'd done back home. Wanda apparently has less restraint (pun partially intended) than Zatanna. "--but that works too. You okay?" The question being for Zatanna. Though they've only talked a couple of times, Zatanna seems like a badass who can handle a lot, but she wants to ask just be sure.

"Hey," she grins, recognizing the girl from an evening of drinking together with their respective hauntings. Zee's father, this woman's brother. It had been a pleasant enough night, all things considered.

"Wanda, right? Oh, yes, I'm fine. This is a sliver of what I do back home. Protect/save the world, etc- and fit some live shows in between all the proverbial mystical or meta-human poo hitting the fan. It's nice to do a bit of that again, even if it's just... this," she points to the sad sack bound to the streetlamp.

Call it self-torture, but he couldn't help being interested in what passed for magic in this sad little world. Mostly cheap illusions fueled by fast talking and the audience having too much alcohol, but tonight? Tonight was interesting.

Graves waited it all out. Past the show and the photo signings, past the time everyone else had been shooed out. All it took was a little magic of his own and his tiny area of the theater was uninteresting to muggles, to anyone without any natural magic of their own. Leaving him free to approach her once all the crowds had faded.

"A little too easy to entertain, aren't they?"

"Not really. You can throw all the magic in the world at them, or the best illusions, but if you don't have presence while you're doing it, it's just another show. You need to be engaging, have as much invested in their enjoyment of it as they do. To want them to have a good time. The applause after that kind of show? It's a rush."

She grins, and tips her hat. "Now, seeing as how my name is all over the promo posters and show merch, I'm going to guess you know who I am- an advantage I don't have with you. Care to introduce yourself, mister...?"

When the adoring audience finally files away from the stage door, there's a waft of smoke and a lone figure waiting in her dressing room, slouched in a chair.

A little working his connections with venues, advertising her as a new rising imPort star, and of course choosing photos for the posters with some visible leg, and it hadn't been too difficult to sell out all three nights. It wasn't a coliseum in Vegas, but the auditorium was spacious and had a local lighting guy that John liked.

The faces that went home smiling did little to alleviate the bitterness he felt. Some of the faces he recognized - fans of imPorts, worshippers of the various teen deities and demons that ran amok. He tried not to resort to spite, thinking about how goddamn fine he was without the surrogate children to bother him, how better off he was, trying to do right by someone he already knew and gave a shit about and had partially ruined the life of anyway from his home universe.

Not that he doesn't enjoy the look of her glammed and glittered under stage lights (and in very tight clothes), but seeing her step out of character was a privilege he tried not to squander.

That, and the sooner she got back and shut off the mirror lights, the sooner he could stop gawking at the mess of stubble and eye bags on his own mug.

"How was the show?" There was glitter on her face, so the removal process was probably going to take a while. But at least she was focused on her own face more than his.

Not that she didn't notice the state he was in, just that she didn't want to mess with her post-performance high by addressing it just yet. Besides, she could tell when he was just... lonely and looking for company. Healthier that he sought her out than someone who charged by the hour.

At least the weight of grief and spite relieved itself as he glances over at her - at least, he means for it to be a quick sideways look. He gets distracted by her as he's wont to do, his expression drawing out into dumb gaping. He catches himself at it, he hopes before she notices, and covers up his weakness with a sarcastic quip;

"One of your muscle-bound assistant fellas had his fly down for the whole levitation bit, but I don't think anyone noticed."

John inches himself out of what he assumes is the splash zone for errant glitter, not wanting the stuff to rub off on his clothes. Not that she hadn't smeared makeup and worse on him before, but it was a pain in the arse to get it out of the fabric.

"We'll get you someplace you deserve soon." he adds absently, which in no way is meant to imply or encourage them one-upping John's former ~~surrogate children~~ talent.

She's past the heavier part of the makeup-removal process, having scrubbed off the waterproof eye makeup and heavy foundation. Everything that's left, including most of the remaining glitter is nothing that a healthy dose of micellar water won't take care of.

"I'm in no rush. I just want to get through the day-to-day here doing what I know how to do."

Using her fingertips, she massages moisturizer into her face and neck in little circles. "What I'm missing... I'm not- I'm not helping anyone here. It took a damn apocalypse nightmare for me to start sticking my neck out for people. What does that say about me?"

It's not often that John thinks before speaking, but now is such an occasion.

His brow knits nearly thoughtfully as he scoots his seat up behind her, hands taking to unlacing her corset with a rare caution. Weirder still is the lack of innuendo in his actions, although she might recognize his gesture as an attempt at not feeling like a useless crapsack.

"Dunno," he admits while fumbling with the laces. "I spent all this time trying to help people nobody else friggin' could. As if it'd redeem me. Maybe I used up the karma before you got here."

That, and she looked like a saint next to him just by comparison.

She let him- though she did cast a slightly miffed sounding "etteragic raeppasid" before he got too close to her costume, and, without really thinking the words through "you are not getting ashes on my costume."

And she made a face- A pained cringe before looking away from his reflection in her dressing mirror.

"Fuck, I'm an asshole."

"Nah," he replies, just managing to suppress a noise of complaint about a perfectly good cigarette being lost to the void. (Though he does scowl behind her back.) "S'my job to be the asshole."

He leans back once the corset is off, uncertain of whether further assistance on his part wouldn't just ruin her belongings. There's been too goddamn many emotions flying around these past few months, and having her here just made it worse. It'd make his life a lot harder if word got around the multiverse that he was even possibly softening up. Ugh, John. Say something else smarmy, and quick.

"There's very little you can do I'd take offense to, love." Not to mention he likely deserves - and very occasionally enjoys - her treatment of him as a human scratching post.

"Honestly it'd be a little easier if you were at least a little mad at me for what I did," she admits, easing into a dressing gown once she's de-costumed. "I really don't deserve the free pass you give me. I saw how much it hurt you, John. I saw you grieving. I kind of hate myself for doing that to you."

Oh bollocks. He'd done so well at dodging this topic, too.

"I had worse done to me in that nightmare setup." He manages to respond with a slightly forced attempt at sounding nonchalant. He didn't tell Zee about why he'd fought with the likes of the Pantheon, how Persephone tore him apart over and over, or how when he woke up he was so sure he was making them miserable that he pushed them away. Those weren't miseries that Zee deserved to shoulder. Instead he shrugs at her.

"You did what you had to. I can't really hold it against anyone for bein' a better person than me."

Edited 2017-05-31 07:41 (UTC)

"I didn't. The person I was there... wasn't me. I'm just having the hardest time not feeling like those weren't really my choices. That was who I'd be if I'd lived in that world. I don't like who I was there. I didn't destroy myself. I didn't use magic to kill. I didn't mindwipe a handful of the soldats to escape deprogramming." She wasn't in love with a man who'd assured her those choices were necessary, helped her understand crossing lines you didn't want to.

Nostalgic hookups and lingering feelings of fondness, sure. But she'd never fall for that con again.

Right. Unlike him, she still gave a damn. She wouldn't allow herself to treat doom and terror like an old friend and look for cheap thrills and menial comforts to dull the pain. She'd never take "it's not your fault" for an answer.

This wasn't a world where things made sense. It was a card table in Vegas and the house always won. The floors were slanted so that nobody imported in could ever stand up straight for long enough to figure out what was going on. Unless all the stumbling around was the object of the game, and that imPorts were merely just bloody entertainment with illusions of heroism to sate everyone's tempers. Good luck getting Zee to accept his rubbish theories, though. He always forgot that deep down, she was one of the do-gooders. Or at least wanted to be. She'd make things make sense where madness would reign otherwise.

He leans forward again and looks at her earnestly,

"If it's any consolation, I'd hate me'self no matter what choices you made. No sense beating yourself up over it."

"Starting to really know that feeling." Not that she was a stranger to it.

"What's there to drink in here?"

With mild relief, he shrugs towards a minibar by the corner of the dressing room.

"Negotiated what I call liquid catering into yer contract, meaning you can dive into those hilarious, tiny bottles guilt-free."

It lets him feel like he's done something useful, without emotional baggage. Without thinking about the appallingly softened, lovesick imbecile he'd become behind closed doors in the nightmare world. It wasn't as easy as writing it off as just a dream or telling himself it wasn't really him.

"You know, if it gets out that I have silk cuts and booze in my rider contract, that might make for some interesting speculation in the press. Probably that I'm way too lenient with my employees," she says, while opening up one of those tiny bottles, and going for the nearest gift basket. There are always a few of those.

"Let's see. Skincare, makeup, makeup... oh, here we go, chocolate. You want to check it for curses? After tonight's encore I'm a little overextended."

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We live to hear the slack-jawed gasping

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